


New Traditions

by revengeandotherdrugs



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, general cuteness, uhm idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revengeandotherdrugs/pseuds/revengeandotherdrugs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“it just doesn’t feel like new years without a bonfire” Marco said suddenly, breaking the companionable silence.  He looked sideways at Jean who was watching him unabashedly through lowered lids.<br/>Jean nodded “it doesn’t feel like new years at all”</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Traditions

Jean had never been one for new years festivities. The drinking was all well and good but new years just wasn’t new years away from home. Jean leaned back against the table and took a long swig from the bottle of wine he’d found in among the bottles of champagne that Sasha had procured (by less than honest means most likely).  
The majority of the 104th trainee corps were celebrating as if there was no tomorrow. Brightly colored streamers looped from end to end of the mess hall,, everywhere was a storm of confetti and alcohol-bright eyes.  
“come on Jean, don’t be such a party pooper” Connie tried to drag him away into the center of the room. He had some sort of paper mass on his head that Jean decided must’ve once been a paper hat but had since crossed the line into indistinguishable-lump territory. His eyes were wide and a pink flush tinged his cheeks. “ you’re totally killing the mood” his voice was slightly slurred “ you like, absorb all the happiness…”  
“leave him alone Connie” Armin wandered over; his hat, for one was intact and he seemed to be the only sober person in the room.  
Connie grumbled but retreated back into the center of the room to re-fill his cup. Jean shot a grateful glance toward the smaller boy. Armin didn’t return his look.  
He took another swallow of wine, the acid-sweet taste reminding him of every new year of his childhood. Generally new years had involved everyone; the entire town would gather in the square and dance and celebrate. There would be food, generally a bull would be roasted, enough for everyone, and served with soup and bread and special new year cake that his mother always said brought good luck. At midnight the bonfire would be lit and everyone toasted in the new year with a glass of last year’s best wine.  
Here there were only a bunch of idiots getting off on crap champagne and confetti. Jean hated it.  
The noise coupled with the sour wine was making his head hurt and the homesickness was forcing its way up his throat like fingers. Since he had left he had never wanted to go home so badly. It was almost a physical pain, so intense it felt like he was being broken apart.  
He staggered out the door, tears prickling, unbidden, behind his eyes and blurring his vision; breaking the light into little sharp stars.  
Outside the darkness was calming. Jean took several deep breaths, relishing the cold bite in his lungs. He pushed away the tears and leaned back against the splintery wood of the building, listening to the muffled sounds of celebration from within.  
The stars glittered like sword points on black velvet; Sharply beautiful and stark in their frigid contrast with the dark. Jean listened to the night-sounds; wind in trees and the flap of the flag against the steel flagpole off to his left.  
There was a light in among the trees, a soft orange glow casting slight, flickering shadows onto the courtyard; The unmistakable tang of woodsmoke issuing from somewhere and filling him with a heart-wrenching thought of home.  
“fuck”  
He set out for the trees, weather to put out the fire or adopt it he wasn’t sure, balling his hands into fists to keep himself firm.  
Jean followed the light into a small clearing, pushing aside branches and undergrowth until he found it. There was a small bonfire in the middle of the clearing, orange red flames danced against logs and twigs as the fire devoured the wood, sending sparks into the sky. A figure was spread out to the side of the fire, tending it lazily and staring up at the sky. They started when Jean’s foot broke a twig with a dry, resounding snap.  
“Marco?” Jean’s heart leapt at the sight of the other boy, skin golden in the firelight and eyes reflecting the flames like some fairy creature. He quickly stamped down his emotions.  
Marco’s surprised expression melted into a grin as he recognized Jean’s silhouette at the edge of the trees.  
“bored with the others?” he asked, poking the fire with a stick which sent a fresh wave of sparks into the sky as the logs settled.  
Jean chuckled “you too?”  
Marco’s lips quirked into a small smile and he gestured for Jean to sit down beside him. Jean leant his back against a tree and curled his knees up toward his chest. The fire danced like a living thing, entrancing and deadly.  
Jean found himself watching Marco. The other boy’s nose would screw up whenever he got too near the flames, his eyes crinkling at the corners to protect from the heat. His freckles looked like photo- negatives of stars against his light skin, glowing and changing like constellations as shadows passed over his face.  
“it just doesn’t feel like new years without a bonfire” Marco said suddenly, breaking the companionable silence. He looked sideways at Jean who was watching him unabashedly through lowered lids.  
Jean nodded “it doesn’t feel like new years at all” he passed the bottle of wine to Marco who took a grateful swig.  
“my mom always used to make this horrible cake…” Marco said “she would say ‘it’ll bring good luck if you eat the whole slice’ but it was so disgusting no one ever finished… even her.” He laughed and it was the most beautiful sound Jean had heard. “then we’d go outside and we’d have a bonfire and there would be real cake, good cake, and we’d all watch the sun come up…” he stared into the depths of the fire and was silent.  
“the whole town used to celebrate” Jean began “there’d be drinking and dancing and food. We had good-luck cake too… it was actually pretty tasty though.”  
The two boys sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, unsure of what to say.  
Loud cheers suddenly erupted from the direction of the mess hall, the cacophony echoing off the hillsides and back to the camp.  
“must be midnight” Jean said. Try as he might he couldn’t keep the note of bitterness out of his voice.  
“hmm” they listened as the raucous died down and the night-noises took over yet again.  
“Jean?”  
“hmm?” he didn’t look up from the fire.  
“there’s uhm this other tradition… where…”  
Jean looked up to find Marco’s face centimeters from his own, the other boy’s hot breath ghosting over his lips. Marco held very still, their lips almost touching, so close Jean could practically feel the electricity on his skin. It was Jean who closed the distance, pressing his lips against Marco’s in a gentle brush that barely counted as a proper kiss.  
There was a moment of silence.  
Marco’s mouth opened in a delicate ‘O’ against his, sloppy and perfect, tongue probing at Jean’s bottom lip. Marco tasted of woodsmoke and fire and wine and Jean brought his hands up to tangle in the soft brown hair and bring Marco closer to him. Marco gripped at Jean’s shoulders, pulling their bodies flush. Jean could feel the pounding of Marco’s heart against his own, matching rhythm. Lips against lips, tongue on tongue, drinking in the entirety of Marco, Jean forgot all about everything but his hands and their lips and the synchronized beating of their hearts. They slowed, the kisses getting softer and more chaste, melting into each other and holding each other close. The tension of an entire year of stolen glances and sweaty palms easing into a new year of, Jean hoped, more of this.  
“happy new year Jean” Marco whispered, planting a feather-light kiss to the side of his mouth and running a soft hand down the back of Jean’s neck.  
“happy new year Marco” he smiled, returning the soft brush of lips to his cheek with a close mouthed kiss to the other’s lips.  
****  
The fire had dwindled down to coals that glowed orange and yellow as they died. The stars were giving way to the soft blush of pre-dawn, the night-noises fading into dawn birdsong and the soft sigh of wind in the trees.  
Marco’s head was cradled in Jean’s lap, their clasped hands lying on his chest. Marco was asleep, despite his earlier determination to stay up until dawn, his soft breaths moving the fringe of hair that had fallen over his face. Jean watched him sleep, wondering how, only hours before, he had wanted to go home. He was home, he was with Marco, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my very first Jean/Marco fic (actually it's my first for SNK at all) and I wrote it in about an hour so its kind of crap...sorry. anyway I felt like I needed to write /some/ kind of celebratory 'happy holidays' fluff and the one I was working on ended up being more crap than this... so you're stuck with this one.  
> all mistakes are mine and mine alone because I'm an idiot and decided to post this at 3am *face palm*  
> enjoy, and happy new year! ^_^


End file.
